


Prisoners of War

by LyraBalaqua



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23027449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyraBalaqua/pseuds/LyraBalaqua
Summary: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger get caught on their time travel in their 3rd year at Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizadry. But time travel for anything other than the trivialities of schoolwork is banned even to the Boy Who Lived. Doomed to Azkaban at the age of 13 the two teenagers are in for an extremely rude awakening and so is their free friend Ron. Join them on their their journey to the Dark.
Kudos: 9





	1. Foiled

**Author's Note:**

> I firmly believe that given England is Christan The Dursleys would be too, but I am not Christian so if I get anything wrong please correct me nicely. Also I do not wish to offend anyone. Harry's ideas of Christianity are character specific, not the author's. Thank you for reading.  
Lyra.

Harry lounged on his slim, hard prison bed. Playing catch with a small ball of cloth which used to be his sleeves. The morning light flickered in mockingly, devoid of warmth or comfort. He flicked the ball up then caught it. His mobility was restricted by the shackle on his left foot, he'd folded it and was comfortably resting on his right elbow, knocking knuckles against his folded right knee every once in a while as he amused himself.  
The prison guard rang his baton against the bars like he was playing the xylophone. The harsh sound echoed around him, calling him to attention. To breakfast.

Harry sighed deeply when he came into the central courtyard and Hermione rushed to hug him. He was tired. It had taken him a week of outright fainting and missed meals before he had learnt to get used to the sheer am out of Detectors and misery in the air. If there was one thing his childhood had taught him, it was this, adaptability. He sighed, it wasn't something Hermione had learnt apparently. Despite being warned that the other prisoners would attack her, hurt her to get to him she refused to listen. A prison wasn't a place for friendship. He pushed her away and looked blankly at her. How easy had it been for him to slip into the prison's routine. How hard it was on her. Only a week and the fatigue, the cold and the hunger were getting to her. And he had a feeling they hadn't been properly "welcome" yet.  
A man smacked 'Mione's arse as they passed by his bench. She jumped. Harry lunged. Five minutes later he was being hauled off and restrained by a dozen prison guards. He had a few scratches and a few bruises, but the other man, whoever he was, had a broken jaw. And it suited him just fine, better than the smug look he'd gotten when Hermione had startled.

Harry was dragged out behind the prison and pushed down onto his knees. On of the guards shoved his head down while the other ripped his uniform off him leaving him naked and very vulnerable. His arms were still being held away from his body, exposing his back so Harry understood that a corporal punishment was to follow. 

The whistle of the whip was the only warning he got before it landed on his back in quick hot agony. He nearly bit through his tongue. Prepared for the second hit Harry grit his teeth and hoped he didn't bite his tongue off, he was pretty sure these bastards would let him suffer for a few days before they did anything. Living in Azkaban had desensitized them a bit too much. He counted fourteen lashes before he was chained on an outcropping of rock positioned just so, that every wave splashed him without drowning him. He was facing the prison, his back to the sea, every wave poured fresh salty water onto his wounds.  
Wonderful. The blood loss was making him delirious, those were four lashes too many. Fuck, if he died today, he was going to come back to haunt a hell of a lot of people. The position he was tied in amused him. His arms were spread out on his sides and his ankles were crossed so he made a T with his body. He looked like Christ when he had been crucified.  
Harry let his head fall back and let loose the near hysterical cackle bubbling up in him. The irony. 

Seven years ago he had finally, finally stopped believing in God. In his teachings. In the Church. The Dursleys, for all their faults, were extremely devout and he had always believed that, since god made everything, he must have made him too. So there must be a reason he was like he was. Maybe it was a test and if he passed his life would get better, he'd have love and a family and...Nothing. Their God had done nothing for him. He'd prayed every night, been kind, had patience, forgiven his aunt for forgetting to feed him, his cousin for hitting him, for his games of Harry Hunting, his uncle for calling him a freak, for denying him education as long as he could, for everything. And he had waited. And waited. And waited. For some divine intervention, some salvation but all he'd got was a big fat Nothing. br /> On his seventh birthday Harry had finally belived aunt Petunia, God may have made the world, but he'd forsaken Harry just like he'd forsaken Lucifer because no amount of punishment, no divinity could cure him of his freakishness. And a week ago, a week ago Dumbledore, another person he'd expected salvation from had not just forsaken him, but pushed him into this pit of Hell deliberately.  
When Dumbledore had told Hermione three turns should do it, he had no idea what he was talking about. But Hermione did, she'd pulled out her student issue time turner and whizzed them back in time to three hours ago just like that. They had tried to rescue Buck beak, even when they knew it was too big of a risk, but they'd been caught by Lucius Malfoy's sharp, suspicious eyes and dumped in front of the minister. One dose of veritaserum, which Harry had insisted only he be dosed with, and some skilful questioning(where, somehow, no one asked who's stupid idea it was, even rhetorically), later they had a one way ticket to Azkaban. Fudge wanted to give them only one year, at most, they were ignorant children, but Dumbledore disagreed. It would be unjust to everyone else punished for the same crime if they were given anything less than the legal punishment of eight years, minimum.

Harry stared up at the dark sky where the Dementors circled the prison like vultures and tears slowly began dripping down the sides of his cheeks.  
Thankfully, there was some good in this bleak world. Sirius at least had escaped. No thanks to them, sure. But he had. he was free, and all of their pain and suffering would be worth it if he could remain like that.


	2. Bloody Hell!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The repercussions of the imprisonment on Ron Weasley, and how he grew up.

Ron had just woken up, from yet another mundane, peaceful night of sleep. He glared at the sun shining in through his bedroom window. Some part of his brain had registered the background noises of his home and concluded that it was somewhere around eight in the morning. That made him scowl some more. He'd spent the last few months in shock. Seeing the sunlight was disorienting, eating warm food was disorienting, feeling the fresh, cool air was disorienting. A soft sort of sobbing sound scraped its way out of his voice box, like someone had stepped on a cat's tail while it was charmed to sound like a train's horn. It was awful. Just like he felt. How could he be free? A twist of fate. If he hadn't been unconscious he'd have gone with them too, would his father have been able to get him out? Of course not, the Weasley name meant nothing.  
In a fit of pique he jumped up and yanked the curtains closed. There, now it was dark, less dark that it would be for Harry though. He was still not sure if he was angry at not being with them or relived. But he did know that he was sad, sad in a way he had never been before. Not even when his father had solemnly told him that he would never be able do to normal magic ever in his life because he was a firebrand. It had hurt alright, but this, this was agony and anger and frustration and he just wanted to scream.  
He scrambled off his bed when his fingers started sparking. Shit. They'd been doing that a lot since he'd woken up in the Hospital wing and been told by the Headmaster that both Harry and Hermione were in prison. In Azkaban. There was just so much wrong with that statement. Harry hadn't know about the Time Turner, just like he hadn't and Hermione-I'mgoingtobedbeforeyougetuskilledorworseexpelled-Granger would NOT have used it on her own. He just knew that in his gut, like he'd known Ginny was still alive last year or that Harry was not okay at the Dursley's or any other hundreds of things which he just knew.  
And now. Now he didn't even know what had happened in the first place. Sure he had stories, but from his own adventures with Harry he knew that there was always, always more to it than appeared. And Harry. Sweet, gorgeous, absolutely brave Harry, he would survive better than Hermione did, but really what had he done to deserve so much darkness in his life? He wasn't even being philosophical or anything, his cupboard had been dark, his bedroom had been locked, he'd always been cold and now, now he wouldn't be let out to even do chores in the sun. It would just be one cold dark day after another in a small cramped space which smelled of piss and blood and insanity. He couldn't even imagine what was happening with Hermione right now. She'd had always been fed and warm and clean and healthy and now she would be none of those. In the end it wasn't even worth it. Sirius was in prison with them. How bloody stupid. Apparently, he'd been tried and found guilty or so Dumbledore and the ministry were saying. Apparently it had been him who duped Harry and Hermione into believing he was innocent, but it had been their idea to use the turner. Apparently everyone in Wizarding Britain had taken permanent leave of their Merlin DAMNED SENSES. He breathed heavily. Yelling in his head didn't make a difference but he hadn't been able to even speak loudly since he woke up, when he could speak at all.  
"Bloody hell." he croaked out, hand running through his hair. What sort of world did they live in where children were given the same prison sentence as adults? Where they were given a prison sentence at all. He could feel his tears start to evaporate. Not a good sign. He couldn't bring himself to care.  
As he stood there blank, looking at his room, he realised with a start that they weren't poor. By Old Pure Blood landed-Nobility standards, sure. After all his father had to work instead of being a man of leisure, they didn't replace their wardrobes every time fashion trends changed, but, his father had also managed to educate seven children in an elite private school without scholarships or grants or loans. Bill and Charlie and now even Percy had proper apprenticeships. They weren't poor. Not at all. What an odd realisation it was to have. They were all heirs to the house of Weasley, and given the nature of the Lordship, anyone of them could inherit.  
His eyes narrowed. Determination and single minded focus filled his mind. He was going to work as hard as he could to be worthy of being the next Lord Weasely and then he would free his friends and he would find the reason behind their imprisonment. The actual reason. Because one thing he knew, time travel had not been their idea.  
He yelped as he caught fire, the simmering anger and sadness manifested itself in red hot flames engulfing him. At first he stumbled then quickly regaining his footing he closed his eyes and visualised Aunt Catherine's house, the huge lake glittering cool blue in the sun, he was in it, swimming around, Fred and George had convinced him to go skinny dipping. Him and Ginny, it was the first time he heard his father swear. He'd been six, it had both been funny and a big no-no. He smiled at the memory, at the way Percy grinned at him carefree, chilled out and proud.  
Deep breath. Hold. Out.  
When he opened his eyes Percy was standing in the doorway, eyes glittering, mouth agape, looking proudly stunned. He let a short surprised laugh out, "You did it champ!" Ron grinned, despite himself. He loved it when Percy called him that. It was their nickname.  
"Well done, son." His father said appearing behind him. Ron gave him a wan smile, as bright as a dying flame. Reality had flooded back in. "May I use the books in the attic?" he asked breath held unknowingly. His father smiled, "Of course, come I'll help you get them down."  
Ron nodded, "Thank you father."  
He hadn't called him that in so long, trying to be cool in stead of a stuffy 'pureblood', how stupid he had been.


End file.
